A/N: Not much to say today, other than enjoy!

Doctor Quote of the Day: "You know the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. They don't alter their views to fit the facts, they alter the facts to fit their views, which can be uncomfortable if you happen to be one of the facts that needs altering." --Fourth Doctor, "The Face of Evil"

Firefly Quote of the Day:

Mal: Well, look at this! Appears we got here just in the nick of time. What does that make us?
Zoe: Big damn heroes, sir. --"Safe"

"A million roads, a million fears
A million suns, ten million years of uncertainty
I could speak a million lies, a million songs,
A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time
But if there was a single truth, a single light
A single thought, a singular touch of grace
Then following this single point , this single flame,
The single haunted memory of your face..."
–Sting, "A Thousand Years"

River had quieted as soon as they brought her through the door, but she still lay curled up in a ball in the center of the floor. Zoe watched Kaylee stroke the girl's hair and tried not to think hard on the fact that the whole gorram 'verse had just gotten extremely weird. On some level, she wasn't particularly surprised that the Doctor was not, after all, human. It surely explained why she couldn't read the man...It surprised her a little, though, that she still thought of him as a man. But that's what he looked like, and, for the most part, acted like.

This room bothered her some. It didn't feel wrong, exactly, but there was an oddness to it that set her teeth on edge. It looked similar to the big room they'd first entered, and the corridors she and Jayne and Kaylee had raced down with River: greens and golds and a faintly organic look. Thing was, though, it felt...silent, in a way no room she'd been in during her thirty-four years ever had. It was as though nothing, solid or intangible, could get in. In a way, it was kind of peaceful. In another way, it was kind of bothersome.

She felt a brief twinge of pain in her abdomen, and experienced an equally brief stab of panic. But the pain was only momentary, and the muscles of stomach and uterus remained still. That would, she thought, be exactly the sort of thing to happen to them–her going into labor at the worst possible time.

Not yet, little one, she thought at the life inside her. It's too soon. And I don't want you to be born on an alien's ship. That would be too gorram...weird.

Jayne sat against the wall near the door, arms resting loosely on his drawn-up knees. He was watching River with a kind of worry. Zoe wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid she might suddenly go buggy on them–which she had been known to do, from time to time when she'd been under great stress–or if it was for the girl's own sake.

She was worried about River, too, but if the girl was anything she was resilient. Most of the great gnawing worry Zoe felt was for Mal. The idiot, gone and got himself caught. Which said to her that he'd gone and done something stupidly noble again. She'd never known a man who could shift gears so quickly as Mal Reynolds. One minute, he was the coldest bastard she'd ever seen, and the next he was getting all manner of idiot heroic–and he never did either at the appropriate time. What was it Minty and Fango had said? He ran when he should stand and fight, fought when he should run...something like that, anyway. He hadn't been like that during the war. Then, mostly, he'd just stood and fought regardless.

Other issues related to her condition were making themselves impossible to ignore any longer. She shifted. "I'm goin' out," she announced.

Jayne looked up from his brown study, startled. "What? Why?"

"Ought to know something about our location," replied Zoe. "And as River doesn't look to be in any more immediate danger, I'm gettin' mighty tired of waitin' here."

Jayne shot an uneasy glance toward the doors. "Oh, I dunno if that's such a good idea, Zoe," he said slowly. "This place is gorram weird."

"I don't think anything'll try and kill me," said Zoe coolly. "And a bit of reconnaissance wouldn't hurt." She wasn't about to tell him that her actual, important reason for leaving the room was to see if she could locate a gorram bathroom. She hadn't exactly had time for any such thing during the battle and escape, and now that the adrenalin had worn off the knowledge that the baby was doing jumping jacks on her bladder was becoming painfully acute.

She watched the expressions cross Jayne's face. It was clear that the mercenary was torn between the desire to suggest that she shouldn't go anywhere in light of her condition–ai ya but all the men on the boat had gotten so gorram fussy about this–and his own highly developed sense of self-preservation, which was probably telling him that if he made any such suggestion Zoe might very well shoot him. She hadn't made a great secret of her irritation with her fellow crew members' sudden protectiveness, even though she understood and, to a point, agreed.

Self-preservation won. "You want my gun?" Jayne offered. It was, from Jayne Cobb, a considerably generous and thoughtful offer. He hated other folk touching his weapons. Zoe smiled a little.

"Got one, thanks. You keep an eye on them." She jerked her head at River and Kaylee.

The little mechanic looked up, her face a mask of anxiety. "You ain't leavin' us?"

"Just to look around a bit," Zoe assured her. "I won't be long."

Kaylee bit her lip. "I–I'm sure the Doctor's ship is safe enough," she said reluctantly. Then she brightened a little. "I'd sure like to have a closer look at it my own self, after–after we get the cap'n back."

"I expect the Doctor'll be happy to offer you a tour." Zoe offered her a reassuring half-smile. River began to whimper as soon as she opened the door, and Zoe hustled herself out as fast as she could shift her ungainly body.

Outside, the corridor stretched to either side of her, shimmering softly in the lights. Zoe eyed the unfamiliar material of the wall nearest her. She and Wash, not long after their marriage, had gotten the opportunity to see an ocean on Persephone. She remembered the overpriced little souvenir shop, where she'd looked at jewelry made of polished coral. Poor Wash, he'd been so distressed that he couldn't afford to buy her anything...The walls reminded her a little of that coral. They had the same polished, warm texture to them.

She looked over her shoulder, trying to decide which way to go, and was more than a mite startled to see a door across from her. It hadn't been there when she'd come out; she was sure of that. It was a small door, and something about it...she opened it. It was a bathroom. The needs of a pregnant woman's bladder instantly overrode any sort of creepifying feelings she might have been having.

In the hallway again, she felt little desire to go back into the unsettling stillness of the Zero Room, and both the soldier in her and simple curiosity were clamoring for a look around this strange, impossible ship. The air was a little on the cool side, though not uncomfortable, and it smelled faintly of ancient paper–though she couldn't be sure on that, as interactions with real paper wasn't something that occurred much in her life–machine oil and...burnt toast? It smelled, for want of a better word, like a home. Serenity had similar smells, things that came with people living and working in the same space. This ship, though, lacked the full of life feeling that the transport had. Instead, it felt...too big. Even standing here in a more-or-less ordinary looking hallway, she had the impression of vast, echoing, and above all lonely space. Like a place that had once been full of life and people, but was no longer. It was a little sad, actually.

Zoe shook the thoughts off. That was the pregnancy talking. She hadn't got as weepy as some women did during their time–well, not in public, anyway–but her emotions, usually so easy to tuck away until she had the luxury for them, were harder to control these days. After that firefight on Serenity...she'd actually been shaking, something she hadn't done since her very first battle. She'd done her best to hide it, and she was fair certain no one had noticed, but it was mighty unsettling to say the least. Even thinking back on the battle brought a small surge of post-fight tremors...She began walking, not even really paying attention to which direction she'd picked. She just needed to bemoving. She surely hoped that she could regain her old self after the baby was born, at least in regards to fighting and such. Who could tell? No woman really knew how having a child would affect her, not until it was done. Maybe she would never again have the icy cold ability to keep any emotion–even the worst kind of heart-wrenching grief–under control until the job was done and over with. It was a horrifying thought; Mal relied on her rock-steady calm...But nothing in this 'verse, not even the prospect of being forever altered, could make her truly sorry she carried this child. In the end, she could not help but regard even the shaking up of her very self into some new and strange and different mold as anything but a small price and inconvenience. She just hated that she was doing this alone–but she wasn't even doing that, not really. Wash might be gone, and she might miss him with an ache that would never pass, but it wasn't as though this child would be without a very large, very noisy family. Everyone in the crew seemed to regard this event as being as important to them as it was to her. Comforting, in a way, even if it did involve watching Jayne behave in ways all manner of disturbing.

Hell, even if she died–and it could happen in childbirth–she could do so in the knowledge that her offspring would never lack for caring folk to do their best to screw up its upbringing. Zoe smiled a little at the thought. There was no doubt in her mind that Mal, in particular, could manage a spectacular screw-up usually reserved only for the best and most well-meaning of parents: he would be unbelievably overprotective. Hell, he'd be that even with her still around to give him an evil glare for interferin' with her parenting. There would probably have to be a long talk between them, after the birth, about just what did and did not fall under the heading of 'captainly duties.' It would involve a certain shifting of their loyal-subordinate-and-superior-officer grounding. It would be uncomfortable, and uncertain. There would surely be screaming matches about it, which she didn't like the thought of. But she knew she could trust him to at least try not to interfere with her role as parent. He'd been very good about staying out of her marriage, at least most of the time. And he would inevitably be cast in the role of father here, regardless of his real relationship with Zoe. It was unavoidable; he already acted as some kind of father to Kaylee, to River, to Simon and–in a very strange way that no one cared to examine too closely–even to Jayne.

She encountered a door in the wall next to her and, as her thoughts about the future wound themselves back onto the very real worry of the present, pushed it open to distract herself. It was a bedroom, small and fairly comfortably furnished, in shades of pinks, oranges, and purples that would have set Kaylee swooning in joy. It also looked as though someone were living here. The room was strewn with scattered clothing, half the drawers in the clothes-dresser stood at least partially open. The clothing clearly belonged to a woman–and probably a young one–and the liberal scattering of makeup and bits of inexpensive jewelry completed the image. There was a mirror, with photographs stuck into the frame. Really curious now, Zoe picked her way along the floor's rare clear spaces for a closer look.

The first photograph she examined was of a plump, middle-aged woman with a careworn but still pretty face, dyed-blonde hair and too much makeup. She was smiling out, her arm around a much-younger woman–also with bottle-blonde hair and a little too much makeup–who was obviously her daughter. The young woman was in most of the photographs and, with another glance around the room and taking in the hairbrush with long blonde hairs caught in it, Zoe concluded that she was the likely candidate for owner of the room's contents. There were a few photos of a young, dark-skinned man with a goofy smile and, even in the picture, the air of stupidity that clings to the very young and inexperienced. The girl stood with him in a couple, and it was clear that they had some kind of relationship, though it was hard to tell if it was romantic or merely friendship. Or romantic-for-lack-of-any-options, which was really likely. There were pictures of the Doctor, too, with the young woman, with her mother–and he was making goofy gestures and faces that, had the mother seen what he was doing, would probably have earned him a slap–and even one with him and the young man, though he looked exasperated in those, and the young man looked both intimidated and annoyed, though they were both attempting to look cheerful. The last few photos were of the girl and another man, a little older looking than the Doctor, wearing a dark shirt and a black leather jacket. He had close-cut dark hair, icy blue eyes, and rather large ears and nose. He also had an startling, unbelievably charming smile for a man with such forbiddingly grim features. Zoe wondered if he were the girl's father, then decided it was unlikely, from the way he looked at the girl in the pictures. And there was something...odd...about the big-eared man...Another couple of photos had in them yet another man, probably in his thirties. He was unbelievably handsome, in a Core-World holodrama hero kind of way: black, thick hair, white teeth, square jaw. He looked like the kind of shwie fellow who knew how handsome he was, and yet remained charming and likeable nonetheless. He and the blue eyed man were in one with the girl, and both had their arms around her shoulders, exuding the air of great friends.

Who were these people? Clearly, they meant a great deal to the girl, and judging from the pictures, to the Doctor as well. Where were they, then? This room had been recently occupied, but it already had an air of loneliness to it that said the owner was no longer here. If she'd left, then why hadn't she taken her things? No one would willingly leave photos like this behind. Perhaps she was dead, then. Might explain some of the sorrow she saw in the Doctor.

Zoe backed carefully out of the room, feeling a mite as though she'd violated some memorial. She turned, and stared. There was a door across from her. She knew it hadn't been there before. Might be she was a little distracted, but not so much that her soldier's instincts didn't still note everything around her. The door had appeared, out of nowhere, while she was in the small room.

Jayne was right. This was a gorram creepy ship.

No threat though, or at least none that her soldier's sense could feel. Zoe allowed curiosity to prod her into opening the door. Beyond...lay a garden. She stopped, and stared up at blue sky dotted with clouds, felt a breeze ruffle her hair and tug at her shirt. Flowers nodded gently around her, shaded in places by stately trees. The air was heavy with their perfume and the smell of fresh soil. Birdsong poured like liquid joy from somewhere nearby.

"Damn." After a moment, she realized the soft, awed exclamation was her own voice. She took several involuntary steps forward, expecting at any moment for it to be revealed as the hologram it surely was. But the flagstones beneath her boots were solid, the moss speckling them springy.

She glanced behind her, half-worried that the way in might have vanished. The door was still open onto the strange corridor of the ship, though on this side it appeared to be set into an ivy-draped brick wall, the other side of which looked to be more garden.

It had been many long years since Zoe Alleyne Washburne experienced wonder. Perhaps the closest she'd come in the past decade was when she'd found herself married to the last man in the 'verse she'd ever expected to fall in love with. Even then, it hadn't been this breathless delight, the feeling that she'd stepped into a childhood dream.

And, in many ways, it was a childhood dream. She'd been born in the black, on a family run transport, and the amount of time she'd spent dirtside could be counted in months–and most of that during the War. As a little girl, she'd dreamed of gardens, of open sky, of secret wilderness to explore and adventure in. She'd nearly forgotten those dreams, until right this moment...

A flicker of light around the corner of a wall caught her eye, and she moved to see what it was. It still felt so unreal. It simply wasn't possible that this place could exist on a ship, no matter how unbelievably weird it was.

The light came from some sort of...well, light sculpture was the only description Zoe could think up. Spiraling tendrils of light twisted upwards from the center of an intricate knotwork bed. She blinked, and peered closer. It seemed almost as though there were faces that appeared in the shifting colors...Zoe froze, as one of the half-seen forms coalesced into something she knew far too well. Her husband's face smiled out at her from the strange column of light.

She stepped backwards, feeling her throat tighten in a mixture of shock, grief, and anger. What the hell was this?

"I'm sorry about that," said a voice, and Wash's face disappeared. The Doctor stood behind her, dressed in a blue suit and dark shirt and tie, grim-faced but otherwise apparently healthy. "The TARDIS is a sentimental old thing, but I'm not sure she entirely understands how much it can hurt, suddenly seeing the face of someone we've lost." His eyes left her face to rest on the writhing light sculpture, and his expression grew even more sober. Zoe followed his gaze and saw, for a moment, two faces. Both were female, one young and elfin, with short dark hair and huge dark eyes, the other narrow, almost haughty, framed by long fair hair. They seemed to flicker, shifting into other faces. Then the Doctor looked away, and the faces vanished.

Zoe found her voice. "How...how is that possible? How is this," she waved a hand at the garden, "possible?"

"Space can be an infinite thing," said the Doctor. "And the technology that grew this ship made excellent use of that concept. Even I don't know the limits of the TARDIS interior, and I've had centuries to know her. Things shift and change–the price of a living ship, I suppose. Bit frustrating, when you're looking for the loo in the middle of the night, but you can't have everything."

"Who were they?" Zoe nodded at the column.

The Doctor hesitated, looking again at the strange sculpture. Then he sighed. "They were...family. Friends. People I...loved."

"It shows the dead?"

"So it would seem." He shook his head. "I don't even know where that thing came from," he muttered. "But I haven't been in this garden in awhile."

"How could it know my husband?"

"The TARDIS gets inside your head, I'm afraid. Bit rude, I know, but as I said–sorry about that. I think she was trying to be comforting."

Zoe wasn't quite sure how to reply to that, and she didn't want to admit that the sight of Wash's face had shaken her so badly. So she changed the subject. "You seem pretty healthy, for a man who just got shot."

"Yes, I'm feeling much better now, thank you." He tilted his head back to look up at the impossible sky, ignoring the look Zoe was giving him. "Are you ready to go back to the Zero Room? I'd like to see what I can do for River."